All The King's Men
by Quinnzical
Summary: One Shot: All the kings horses and all the king's men couldn't put jack harkness together again.


**All The King's Men **

**[Beta'd, Revised]**

_By: Sophie Quinn_

_Twitter: Quinnzical__

Ianto's flat was small, uninviting, and sparsely decorated. The lighting was poor, the plumbing was loud and every now and then he could hear something skittering about beneath the floor boards. His furniture was common, and his bedroom near empty. There was a small knitted blanket from his sister that had been folded and forgotten on a neglected arm chair. He never bothered buying any art to hang on the walls, and what few plants he had sitting on bare tables had all died months before, dried leaves falling from dried branches. There were no more than a handful of small picture frames on dusty shelving, all of which had been turned down so the images could no longer be seen. The smiling faces banished to a fate of being forgotten. All of them, except one that sat nestled at the end of a row of dusty books on an equally dusty book shelf.

On the rare chance he would come to his home, he would always find himself standing in front of it regardless of whether or not he made a conscious effort. He would simply stand and stare at the image of time frozen, thinking of the memory that engulfed it until he felt as if he was being swallowed by the days gone passed.

From his neglected kitchen, the sound of a tea kettle whistling broke his silent reminiscing and he turned to leave the photograph and the memories it stirred up behind on the dusty shelf. Once his drink was prepared and lightly held within his hands, there was nothing left to stop him from returning and he did so if only to linger within thoughts of a happier time. He had not expected the photograph to be gone completely once he returned to the small living room, and found his steps delayed by an impossible sense of disturbance.

It took no more than three and a quarter steps to his left for him to pull his Torchwood issued pistol from the holster hanging on the back of a chair, and less than two seconds to have it cocked and ready to fire. His tea cup still held carefully within his other hand, he turned to face the intruder and thief, and raised his gun.

"You still have this?" Jack asked softly, brushing his thumb over the glass of the frame until the image was clear of gathered dust and the smiling faces, vibrant. "It's been...years, hasn't it?"

"Get out." Ianto kept the gun level and the tea still, neither hand faltering as he held his stance and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.

"I remember this day." He held up the picture a little, gazing down on it with a half cocked smile that was near as warm as the memories that it invoked. "It was snowing."

"I know what the weather was like." Ianto hissed the words, shifting to slide his tea cup onto the table before he took a step forward to snatch the photograph away from Jack. His steely gaze broke only for a moment, flicking down fondly at the picture before the mask slipped back into place. "Why are you here."

"Do I need a reason?" Jack leaned back against the wall, his thumbs hooking loosely at the edge of his suspenders. His coat shifted aside slightly and Ianto found himself looking him over as he once did, so long ago. "I wanted to see you."

"I don't want to see you."

"I beg to differ." He motioned towards the picture still held within Ianto's hand, raising a brow in defiant curiosity.

"Leave me alone."

"You don't want that." Jack smiled softly, pushing himself away from the wall to move a little closer. Ianto simply backed up until the table met his thighs. The cup of tea shifted slightly on it's surface, sending droplets sloshing out over the edge of the delicate porcelain. Ianto took a deep breath, closed his eyes and raised the gun again.

"Get out! Leave me alone!" He stated firmly, his fingers gripping so tightly to both the hilt of his pistol and the frame of the picture that he was certain one of them would crack beneath the pressure. Silence answered him and in that silence he found the courage to open his eyes once more.

The small, uninviting, and sparsely decorated apartment met him as empty as it had been moments before. Dying plants unmoved and falling to pieces, dust settled where it wished on surfaces that had not been touched in months. A tea kettle cooling on the counter and the front door locked securely from the inside. Ianto set aside his pistol and walked on firm footing towards it, jiggling the small silver knob to make sure that the deadbolt was in place and the chain still firmly linked.

A breath escaped his lips as he leaned back against the wooden surface and slid down until he could sit on the floor. Suddenly, his legs didn't seem reliable but the floor did not appear as if it would abandon him and give way. He turned the picture frame over in his hands, looking over the glass that had been gently cleaned of its gathered dust and ran his fingertips across the smooth surface.

Jack's handsome face stared back at him, a bright smile and shining eyes and in the photograph he stood beside him. They had taken a walk that day and found themselves within the park where they first met. Contrary to that encounter, this time it wasn't the dead of night and a fresh snow had just fallen. Ianto smiled, ever so slightly, as he recalled how easy it was then to laugh. They played in the snow until the tips of his fingers were numb, the skin on his face was stiff and his lips seemed frozen into that grin. That night was spent drinking warmed cocoa and finding new ways to make Jack gasp his name in fits of passion, that night he held Jack and whispered to him a confession of love that wasn't forced by feelings of impending doom.

Jack whispered them back.

They fell asleep entwined, Ianto soothed by the sweet lullaby of Jack's breathing and the sound of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears. When morning came, he woke.

Jack, did not.

Time simply had run out for the one they thought to be immortal, and no searching ever turned up a reason as to why. One day there was snow, there was laughter, there was hot chocolate and passion. There were sweet words of love and a warm embrace, and the next day there was a small, uninviting and sparsely decorated apartment.

Haunted by memories long gone, haunted by a love Ianto Jones simply could not forget.

_Fin._


End file.
